vain monuments of their own wit and ingenuity. In every view of the human mind, during the exhibition of tragic imitations, compassion, or sympathy, in a more extended sense, presents itself as the operating principle, the immediate sense to which such scenes address themselves. This is the only principle within us, which is sufficient to attach us to misery; to connect a being who is interested for himself, and is in the constant pursuit of his own proper happiness, to connect such a being with the unhappy, and as by an irresistible impulse introduce him to a partnership in their afflictions. The contradiction, therefore, which this propensity, at the first view, carries with it to a leading principle of our own natures, vanishes when we consider it in this important light; we appear to act in perfectconsistence with an acknowledged, and powerful, and highly valuable principle of our natures. While our other senses are continually continually opening themselves to their proper objects, it would be strange, indeed if this internal sense, whose aim is directed to the noblest character of man, were reluctant to its proper exercise, and averse to those objects, and to those scenes, which immediately address themselves to it. This would argue indeed a defect in his constitution, such as could not easily be reconciled to our ideas of that designing wisdom, which intended him to be one beautiful and harmonious whole. If, indeed, the end of compassion, as a principle of human nature, were directed only to particular exigencies in human life, as an instant stimulus to acts of kind protection, and humane alleviation of fellow misery, it might be thought sufficient if it were reserved for such interesting occasions; and the mind were not led by a further impulse to the participation of distress, when no immediate object of our benevolent interposition is before us. But compassion was implanted in us with more extensive F 3 views, views, not merely that it might come in aid of our good will on pressing occasions, which may justify the pain it gives us; but that, by a more regular and uniform exercise, it might minister to the sublimest virtue of man, and dispose us, on every occasion, to wish and do well to the creature like ourselves. There is a striking difference in the exercise of this sense, as referred to the real distresses of human life, and to the fictitious ones of tragedy; and this difference is wisely adapted to their respective uses. When we are summoned to immediate action, the sympathetic feeling is pain unmixed, in order to give power and velocity to the benevolent stimulus. We have no propensity, therefore, to such scenes; we do not wish them to exist, in order that our compassion and benevolence may have a field to action; though he who orders, or rather permits them, has wisely provided that the calamities of human beings shall operate to the moral improvement and per fection fection of their minds. But where the distress is merely fictitious, or the representation of what is past; and no kind humane interposition is expected from us, but only the cherishing an uniformly benevolent temper may be supposed to be in view; then the pain is mixed and tempered with something that we know not to give a name to, something that must attend on every mind in the exercise of its best affections, a complacence such as a superior spirit may be supposed to feel, if he were viewing the infirmities and distresses of some inferior system. To such scenes, which imply no augmentation of the real calamities of our fellow-creatures, but may minister to the augmentation of our good will towards them, we are moved by an internal impulse; by an impulse which we approve of in reflection, and which those who are little accustomed to reflection do however obey. In speaking of the affection of the mind to tragic representations, I have adopted the language of the writers I have opposed, while F 4 while I was discussing their theories; and I may myself, in contemplating the impulse to tragical representations, and the complacence in those benevolent affections which are excited, and distinguishing these from the impressions on the heart which the spectacle of pain excites, have used the term pleasure, yet with a visible dubiousness and reluctance, because language immediately suggested no other term; though it by no means corresponded to my idea, nor to the real truth of the sensation. When the mind is but moderately interested in any tragic scene, and has leisure to attend to no other circumstances than what are appropriate to sympathy, it may be sensible to feelings which are in their nature pleasant, but chiefly, if not entirely, springing out of these collateral circumstances. But when the increasing distress of the scene entirely possesses the mind, all semblance of pleasure vanishes, and the feelings are those of pure compassion; but not, unless in some particular instances, painful up to the de |
